Sherlock's Diary
by TrueJohnLock
Summary: John confronts Sherlock about his drug use. John forces Sherlock to write a journal about himself, like John's blog. What will Sherlock write? What will John find in it? NOTE- This is not done! I update it when I can.


John H. Watson sat at the edge of his seat staring into the eyes of the man sitting across from him. Sherlock Holmes, high and irritated, sat with his legs folded, glared back. "John, I don't have a problem," he snapped after a long period of silence. John simply sat back, sighing. "Drugs are a problem, Sherlock. You do," he pushed. "I'm taking you to a therapist." The detective looked shocked. "You'd never," he whispered. "Yes, I would," John said boldly. Sherlock drew his face into a deep frown. "John, no, please. I don't need this, I'm fine, I've never had many problems, maybe once or twice…" his voice trailed off. John grabbed Sherlock's arm and looked into his eyes. "Sherlock, I can't see you in pain. Solve this, like one of your cases. Maybe… keep a journal, always watching your moves. Please, Sherlock. I can't see you in pain." His eyes darted around, and let go, "Please, do this for me."

Sherlock kept his mouth tight for a few seconds. "John…" he leaned forward, "For you. I'll keep a journal to keep myself right, for you." It was funny, how much he softened, after that one statement. He stood up, and left for his bedroom. It was around 4:00 PM, but Sherlock wanted to hide his problem. "I'm- sorry, John," he whispered as he sat on his bed after stripping down to his robe. After around an hour, the door opened. Sherlock turned around quickly, wiping his eyes after tears. John, with a new, leather journal, threw it near Sherlock. "Begin your entry, Sherlock. It'll help, I promise. I had to write my blog for therapy, it helps," he said, forcing a smile. Sherlock refused to look at John, for he was too ashamed.

"Of course, John."

Sherlock waited for John to leave, then reached over and grabbed his journal at once as he did. His hand reached out for the pen on his nightstand, but touched a glass. It was filled with alcohol, and temptation filled him. "No, I mustn't. For John." Sherlock then grabbed the pen next to it, and distractedly scribbled the date down. Many things floated in his mind as he began this, but he had absolutely no clue what to write down. His mind drifted to John more than once before he decided to write about his flatmate.

His hand shook as he wrote down the first few words.

"_John is forcing me to write this. So I am. I just want to begin: I have no problem. Only once or twice- maybe ten times- have I done drugs. I don't have a problem with them. I'm Sherlock Holmes; I only have problems with hospitality and humans. Drugs don't bother me, they are simply substance. I don't abuse them. Let's settle with John. He cares a lot, so I can't blame him. He's too- well, I've never blamed him for anything. A real clever fellow, too, I care for John, more than he'll understand. Thanks, John?"_

He finished his entry and closed the book with a slam. It did actually feel better to write it out. Sherlock stood up and decided to dress again to go thank John. When he finished putting his clothes on, he was very quiet as he opened the door. John was sitting in the kitchen, reading the news. "John," Sherlock said, "Err- thanks." Sherlock wasn't great at thanking people, but his thank you was very heartfelt. He then promptly sat down and put his feet on the table. "Oh god dammit, Sherlock. Get your feet off of the table or you'll spill something," John said with a laugh as he gestured to Sherlock's mess. Sherlock looked at the table. "You love my mess, John. You'd never want me to clean it up," he said, not moving his feet.

Of course, Sherlock said this with basically no emotion, his eyes diverted to his feet. They were wiggling around, as if he wanted to knock stuff down.

Suddenly, a man dressed in a pinstripe suit appeared around the corner. "Which one of you is Mister Holmes?" Sherlock and John both looked at the man. "I am," said Sherlock as he stood up. John soon followed. "A case?" John asked, peering into the man's face. "Yes, why else would I come?" the man shot at John.


End file.
